


the western line

by vanitaslaughing



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Episode Ignis Verse 2, Rebuilding, its. a lighthearted convo about swords and canned food going Dark Places, no one actually dies dont worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-05 00:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanitaslaughing/pseuds/vanitaslaughing
Summary: “Hey, Iggy. How about we sneak out for the old times’ sake?”“… Sneak out like we’re the prince and his friend instead of the king and the royal advisor?”“Yes. Complete with the silly disguises."Insomnia, a year after dark.The city is in reconstruction, and the people are recovering - even their leaders. There's a lot of things left unsaid, and the time to say them according to one is never, and according to the other the time is now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fluffychiffoncake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffychiffoncake/gifts).



> this was. supposed to be a oneshot with 3,000 words at MOST.
> 
> at 7,000 i smacked myself in the face and chopped it into two pieces. with a third to come. maybe a fourth but i shouldnt get ahead of myself there

He was a patient man. Scarily patient, even.

The moment that everything settled down and it came back around to waiting, everyone else got nervous, somehow. They worried that everything would go wrong, that someone would mess up, that some outside force was going to decide that it was not happening and that the gods would have their sacrifice in the end. Of all people it was he who remained the calmest, his hands folded in his lap whenever these meetings took place. Someone even pointed out that statistically speaking, he should definitely not be that calm.

To which he only replied, “Given my track record, I dare say I’m fine being calm for once,” and offered them a soft smile while his eyes remained closed.

Truth be told, he was just as worried as they were. It was taking so long, and the smallest mistake could bring the whole house of cards tumbling down. And with that would come the fact that there was a blood price to be paid for that failure, a blood price that they were effectively trying to avoid. For different reasons, he realised early on. His reasons were selfish, but so were everyone else’s. Perhaps there was nothing selfless left in the world after the late Lady Lunafreya died the way she did – someone who gave her life to ensure that the planet had a future.

It had shifted the desires of the world into something much more selfish.

Just as selfish as it had been to desire a different version of fate, or die trying to achieve it. Ignis had to admit, he was scarily content with how things were going. Unlikely allies had been made, and with the proper preparation, darkness had not hit them as bad as it could have; they had even managed to do a good chunk of the necessary groundwork before the sun stopped rising and the heavy clouds of miasma and particles blocked out the sun entirely. There were other things that needed to get finished, but he was fairly confident that they would be done when the time came.

It was just the waiting game that required patience.

Patience that he had.

It was the confidence that everything would go exactly not the way the gods wanted it to go that was lacking, however.

* * *

He felt strangely vulnerable when they left Hammerhead. The darkness had turned the once safe at day country into a constant battlefield, something that killed many despite all the preparations they had managed getting done. Most of Niflheim had been completely destroyed in the weeks following Noctis’ confident and calculated disappearance following the events in Zegnautus Keep that he barely remembered. They had barely managed to get those that were unhurt and not contaminated out of the country, and the fact that the conquerors were not the conquered seemed almost too ironic to carry on. Nevertheless, it was them offering a helping hand when their enemies were at their lowest that ensured that they reacted in kind and offered hands where they were needed. It was perhaps not the most tight-knit community, but it worked.

That was why the dark was so baffling. So bewildering. This was where good people went to die, or good people tried to find something only to lose everything they ever had. The dark consumed without remorse, without a second thought, like a creature awoken after hundreds of years of slumber. No, Ignis surmised at some point when they had a moment to breathe before continued on to where they would rest before entering the city, like a sickness that had been festering for too long. There would be scars left, visible and invisible.

And nearly automatically he covered his hand with the other, imagining power surging through every vein in his body, every nerve tingling, every single cell of his body searing with selfish determination to put an end to this before it put an end to Noctis. And if it killed him.

He caught the strange look Noctis shot him, and he immediately summoned his weapons in a hot flash of shame.

Those times were over. He had not spent the last ten years planning and shoving that thought out of his mind to have it come back now and consume him whole when it failed to do so ten years earlier. He had no desire for that kind of power. No longer, at least. There was a time where he desired the ability to even the playing field in a blaze, but he had since learned better. There was no reason for him to ever wear that ring again – and it was where it belonged anyway. On Noctis’ hand.

* * *

The camping grounds were ghastly silent after they had taken care of that Behemoth that had haunted the immediate region surrounding it. Another creature that had been twisted beyond recognition by the endless dark, something that none could heal now that Lunafreya was dead.

Ignis silently sat some ways off. This could have been their last shared dinner. Noctis himself seemed rather certain that he was going to die, and Ignis was uncertain how to break the news to him. There would be no dying after they slept. There would be no sacrifices made for the greater good, because there was a way that did not demand a blood price to be paid. When he heard steps approach from behind him, he started laughing softly.

He’d know the way Noctis walked even if he were blind. Even if they were separated for hundreds of years he would immediately recognise the prince – no, the king – just by the sound of his steps alone. The reason why he was laughing was that normally it was him who approached the often dozing or otherwise pensive Noctis, not Noctis approaching the normally impeccable Ignis.

Noctis said nothing and sat down next to him, and they both sat there in silence for a few moments.

At some point, Ignis closed his eyes and leaned backwards a little. “Reminds me of the time I spirited you away--”

“You spirited me away a lot of times, Ignis,” Noctis said without moving the slightest. He sat in a way that made seeing his face rather hard, and Ignis started frowning. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

Ignis leaned forwards slightly, trying to catch Noctis’ expression. It was nigh impossible, but he figured it was one of these almost blank expressions he usually wore when he was upset over something. Ignis only folded his hands in his lap as he had done a lot of times in the last ten years. Patience was a virtue, and the patient would be rewarded eventually. He tried not to notice how his hand looked nowadays without the glove that normally covered the burn around his middle finger.

“Now, surely you remember that one time. After the city fell. After we met with Iris in Lestallum, before we went to the Disc of Cauthess.” Around Jared’s death, when they were all shell-shocked that the empire did these things to a country already defeated. Not that Ignis had to mention that to Noctis. “We had just taken care of the Behemoth and Gladio and Prompto agreed to try finding this one Chocobo for Wiz.”

The fact that the confidently smiling Noctis who had returned after ten years of darkness was gone now hurt Ignis more than the ten years he had spent not knowing if he would ever come back. For a Chosen he looked vulnerable, and considering Noctis’ mood it really wouldn’t be a good idea to break this bluntly.

He closed his eyes with a small sigh. “Since it was their job and they agreed to it, you said they might as well go do it on their own. You were in one of the worst moods I’d seen in a while, and decided that I needed to do something about that.”

Finally Noctis made a sound. It sounded like a strangled snort. Or perhaps a strangled sob.

“We were camping, weren’t we? And you even let me sleep until I woke up out of my own free will, and said nothing when I dragged my carcass out of the tent. Just offered me some breakfast. Well, brunch.”

“Gladio and Prompto assumed we wouldn’t move from the camping grounds at all.”

Noctis moved his head slightly, and Ignis saw the ghost of a smile on his face. “So you did the only logical thing, and dragged me as far away from it as you could. Till the sun set, without once telling me what the hell this was about.”

“The near death experience because of a wild Garulessa assuming we were the hunters who hurt her babies notwithstanding, I dare say it was a rather pleasant afternoon.”

“In Duscae. Which is hot and humid and awful to wander around in without a goal in mind. I was ready to strangle you by the time the sun set.”

Both of them snorted, and Ignis folded his hands. “You were really riled up. Demanding I tell you what the hell this was all about. So instead of answering, I--”

“You turned your face to the skies and said that you wanted me to see this.” Noctis closed his eyes. “Back in Insomnia the night sky was kinda hard to see, what with the Wall and everything. And for the first time since we left the city, I actually paid attention to the sky. All the way away from big settlements. No clouds. All anger I managed to build up over the afternoon just collapsed in on itself when I saw that, ‘cause it was like… our childhood dream come true. Seeing the sky like that. … But how does this situation of that day?” He opened his eyes and started frowning. “There’s nothing in that sky right now. Only… darkness, I guess. Miasma. Whatever you people call it.”

Ignis hummed. “Because it’s similar. Back then you hated what happened before the good thing happened. It’s always darkest before dawn, I suppose.”

Awkward silence fell over the two of them, with Noctis clearly thinking about how he would have to die for that dawn that Ignis likely wanted to see. Because it was absolutely no secret that Ignis adored the night and the sunrise. Noctis of all people knew that better than anyone else – they had grown up. Before the accident, though Noctis did not remember it that well, Ignis had often woken Noctis up just so they could watch the sunrise together somewhere in the Citadel. After that it had turned into more of a trying to make the night less scary for Noctis thing. The only thing that the prince remembered clearly anyway was the fact that Ignis loved the stars and the first light of dawn.

It was so ironic that Ignis was rather certain that if he had failed in his quest, he would have come to absolutely hate the very thought of sunrise.

Maybe he would have to bluntly say this either way. It was what Noctis knew him for – being blunt when something big was involved.

“I know what happens.”

Noctis cringed and Ignis heard him nearly choke.

“Or at least what the gods would have you do. I saw it, ten years ago, at the Altar of the Tidemother.”

He raised his hand where once upon a time the Ring of the Lucii had rested. He slowly removed that glove, and Noctis’ already wide eyes started watering when he saw that. There were some scars that not even the Crystal’s magic had been able to heal, and this hand was irreversibly burnt, just like the area around his left eye. Scars that Ignis bore with pride ever since he had found a solution to the issue. Not that Noctis knew that yet, and he only gave his king a soft smile.

“If there is one good thing that came from my foolish actions back then, then it’s the fact that we are here today the way we are. Because impulsively going with the man who was definitely trying to kill me just to make you fall into despair led us onto a path that does not end the way it is supposed to.”

Noctis’ expression went from guilt to horror as Ignis said that. Whatever was going through the king’s mind, Ignis didn’t dare digging around in that. Instead he placed the scarred hand on Noctis’ cheek and shot him a smile.

“Knowing what would happen gave us time to prepare the people. The dark did not blindside us, as Gladio already told us. What he omitted at my request was the fact that we spent the last ten years devising a way to see the sun rise – without what the gods want.”

“Ignis…?”

“I was ready to give my own damned life back there in Gralea just to see an end to this without you sitting on that throne you were always so scared of, your father’s sword embedded in your chest as the first light of dawn falls into the room. I would have condemned myself to an agonising death if it meant you get to live.” Noctis shuddered a little before he raised his hand to put it on Ignis’, while Ignis himself stopped smiling and looked as serious as he always did when he was being absolutely honest. “The only person dying at the end of the night is Ardyn. Not you. Not me. Not anyone else. Lunafreya’s sacrifice will not have gone to waste because of you dying at the end as well. _You’ll live._ I promise.”

He watched that single tear run down Noctis’ face, and almost regretted that he spoke. But then Noctis’ face lit up. A wide smile, with tears running down his face as he was leaning into Ignis’ hand.

“Gods, Specs… you… you absolute… madman. Are you really telling me that destiny’s not getting me despite everything that Bahamut said?”

Ignis snorted. “Nope. No destiny. And if it tries anything funny, mark my words, I will march right down into the depths of all hells themselves to pull you back out.”

All Noctis did was grab Ignis and pulled him into an almost crushing embrace. Only Ignis heard the fact that Noctis was sobbing and hiccuping into his shoulder.

* * *

No matter how many times he imagined that scene, nothing could have prepared him for the actual thing. Noctis was always a man of few words, but just realising that the time had come to see this through to the end nearly made Ignis’ entire body burst with a mixture of pride, joy, and a very unhealthy dose of smug defiance to what the gods had deemed Noctis’ fate. The fate that everyone had resigned to, the fate that was not now going to come to pass.

And though they had been enemies before the Altar of the Tidemother, and despite the fact that it had taken Ravus no less than four years to warm up to the idea to help out with this, he waited for them on the steps leading up to the Citadel just as he had promised he would. A man who would have also died if things had not gone the way they did, Ignis had realised not too long ago. Or rather, Ravus had told him such. They were a group of five men who should not be walking up these stairs together.

As Prompto had so aptly put it earlier, they were on their way to ‘screw destiny’.

Ignis and Ravus only shared a meaningful glance. It had taken them long to come to a mutual understanding, let alone forge this kind of friendship against all odds. But here they were; both servants to the King of Light together with two others. All four of them determined to see the Chosen’s tale to its unpredicted ending.

* * *

He bore his faded scars with pride after the sun rose. He still wore the gloves when in public just to hide the very obvious scarring that told the story of a fool who wore the Ring of the Lucii and lived to tell the tale from the general population, but behind the closed doors of the Citadel he often did nothing to conceal that wound. In a way it was similar to Gladio’s scar from the fight against Gilgamesh; something that told a story that he was proud of. Gladio was the only survivor that the Trials of Gilgamesh ever afforded, Ignis was the sole person to survive wearing the Ring of the Lucii who had not a single drop of royal blood in him. The Ring of the Lucii connected him to Noctis and Ravus in a strange way that Ravus eventually joked about Ignis perhaps being royalty as well.

Ignis knew that he had to thank King Regis for that first and foremost, just as Ravus only lived because he was the Oracle’s brother and him dying to his own pettiness would destroy the woman before her destiny destroyed her. It was something that the gods and the Lucii could not afford at the time and therefore decided to merely ensure that Ravus would not do something petty and foolish again until his time came.

Noctis avoided looking at the hand, however. He usually started messing with the ring on his hand whenever he saw it.

Therefore, a few months after the sun rose with the king alive against all odds just as Ignis had promised him, he started wearing his gloves when he was outside and whenever he was around the king. If it helped ease Noctis’ mind then Ignis would do just about anything at this point. The reconstruction was going well – who cared if he seemingly randomly wore gloves around the Citadel?

Noctis cared. Ignis saw it in the crease of his eyebrows whenever he noticed, just as he had always frowned when he saw the scars, and sometimes Ignis wondered what was going through Noctis’ head.

But he wouldn’t pry.

Not after everything that had happened. They had fought and lived to tell the tale, and that had to be enough.

It was a year after the sunrise, a day like any else as far as Noctis was concerned, when he suddenly touched Ignis’ shoulder after a harrowing meeting with the newly formed council. Representatives of every Lucian region had been given chairs rather than only the few surviving nobles, Noctis’ council was substantially larger than King Regis’ had been but it better represented what the continent needed. A united front, just as Ignis and Ravus had been back in Altissia.

“Hey, Iggy.” It had been a while since Noctis last called him that. “How about we sneak out for the old times’ sake?”

Ignis stopped in the hallway. The council decided against the formal robes unless there were foreign dignitaries invited, and therefore Ignis was just in his uniform. The Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive had merged and were only called Glaives of Guards these days depending on their affinity for magic.

“… Sneak out,” he deadpanned in the empty hallway, and the king grinned at him, “like we’re the prince and his friend instead of the king and the royal advisor?”

Noctis only grabbed his hands. “Yes. Complete with the silly disguises. I heard the western line’s working again.”

The western line was where they had been caught by Cor once. In the middle of the train, long after Noctis got what he wanted to get outside of the Citadel. They’d entered the car and seen Cor sit there with a rather neutral expression on his face, and they both knew that he was mad. So instead of making a scene, they had silently sat down next to him. Noctis still fondly remembered that; he had nearly cried when he found that the book had survived the ten years of darkness. Ignis, too, had laughed a little when he saw that again. All of this trouble, and the month of being grounded, and all for a book full of pictures of the night sky around Eos. Noctis had been so proud of that for the month they had been grounded, and kept saying that one day he was going to take Ignis to see the stars like that. In the end it had been Ignis who took Noctis to see the stars in the Duscaen night sky, but the details weren’t that important. It was one of his fondest memories.

“Very well.”

* * *

The train ride was nothing special. If it weren’t for the Ring of the Lucii on Noctis’ hand, perhaps they could have looked like a normal pair of travellers. Not that anyone noticed the ring except for Ignis – if anyone did recognise them, they said nothing. Noctis got up at a station that had been added during the rebuilding effort. It was a part of Insomnia that was still in the process of getting rebuilt; the heard of that district was still in complete shambles thanks to the night that Insomnia had fallen and the general state of chaos that the city remained in until the sun stopped rising altogether.

Ignis had to admit that he like sunsets a lot more than sunrises nowadays. Seeing the ruins of the night that people called endless until the sun rose again in the light of a sunset reminded him that it had happened. The light growing dimmer reminded him that he was alive. That Noctis was alive. That they would live, something he hadn’t believed when he watched the final sunset back then. Most people preferred the sunrise. Others hated the night.

Ignis had come to love them again now that everything was the way it was supposed to.

He quietly followed Noctis until the king eventually stopped between the rubble and sat down on a block of concrete.

This district really wasn’t high on the priority list. Still, Ignis remembered the way it had looked before everything, and frowned as he sat down next to Noctis. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, shoulder by shoulder, until Noctis moved. He reached for Ignis’ hand and slowly pried the glove off.

Ignis said nothing and only watched him do that.

“I still can’t believe you actually did that,” Noctis eventually whispered. “And you didn’t stop there, either. Together with everyone else you made sure it ended this way… why?”

The easiest answer to that would have been love. But there were many things that Ignis never said in his life, and this was one of the few things that he was willing to take to his grave with him. Perhaps it had not been wise to stick two young children together like that, but Ignis moreso than anyone else, depended on Noctis being around just for peace of mind. The fact that somewhere along the way comfortable routine turned into unrequited love was something that he barely considered. But his actions in Altissia and Gralea were clear to him, and several people had already called him out on acting like a moron with no consideration for themselves because they were in love with someone.

“I… swore an oath to stand by your side and keep you safe.”

Noctis trembled a little, and his grip on Ignis’ hand fastened a little. “I never asked you to _die_ for my sake.”

Ignis closed his eyes. “I know. I’ve had… a long time to ponder on this.” A long time to stew on his feelings and realising that no matter how much he tried, he wouldn’t be able to regret a single step he took for Noctis’ sake, even if everyone else called him insane for it. “It was… selfish of me to not take your feelings on the matter into consideration. And I knew all along that you would hate me for getting hurt or dying on your behalf. Had I stopped a moment to think like the strategist I am supposed to be, I would have realised how horrifying my actions were. … I can’t say I regret it, though.”

Noctis mumbled something before shaking his head.

They watched the rest of the sunset like that. Part of him still thought that perhaps now the Wall would shimmer above them, or that Daemons would start manifesting around them. Neither of these things happened; while the Crystal had been drained of most of its powers, the connection to it remained. Noctis surmised that it would be a few hundred years before anyone would ever be able to raise a Wall again using the Crystal as the Catalyst, however. It was just enough energy to permit them to continue using magic on a much smaller scale – no flashy spells, definitely no spelldaggers. Just small things like a bolt of tiny lightning to jumpstart a machine, a small fire to help start a much larger one, a cold hand on a feverish forehead. Nothing compared to the infernos and blizzards and thunderstorms that Noctis had managed to simply suspend in a specifically infused bottle.

But there was no wall shimmering above them, there were no Daemons rising. The only thing that accompanied them out here in these still ruins in the middle of a city steadily coming back to life was silence – and the stars above their heads.

They were less visible here because of light pollution, but Ignis sighed as Noctis held his hand.

“Hey, Ignis?”

He had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been seconds, or hours. Sometimes he still wondered how the hands of fate had decided that he would succeed with his suicide attack on the Accursed just with enough time to spare that the Chosen could arrive and beg the Crystal for help. If Noctis had been but a few minutes later, Ignis was certain he would have been dead. If he had been just a bit less determined and furious, if Ardyn had taken him a bit more seriously, then Ignis would have been nothing but a charred corpse with neither regrets nor anger that it had gone so wrong. Had be bent his knee to Ardyn, hells only knew what he would have done with all that fury in his heart at that very moment.

He only looked at Noctis with a puzzled expression and said nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning:
> 
> \- lighthearted conversation about canned food  
> goes  
> >>Mildly Graphic Suicide Talk
> 
> not that anyone dies but im warning again. it's the 4th paragraph.

They had grown up together. They had gone through the good and the bad, always offering the other a hand or a fun fact about something whimsical, often related to the books that Ignis had read him when they were children. There was a period of time after they left Insomnia, after the covenant with Titan but before the time they left for Altissia that Ignis and Noctis seemed to know what the other was thinking. People they didn’t know in Lestallum sometimes even commented on how fantastically they got along. All four of them, but something between Ignis and Noctis was a little deeper than that.

But after ten years, there was something that Ignis had definitely locked up safely and thrown the key away of. Noctis had a vague idea what it was that Ignis wanted to keep safe, because there were very few things that Ignis was _not_ going to tell Noctis. The time his mother had gotten so sick that the doctors, heartless bastards as they were, had told her barely teenage son that she might not make it and Ignis stopped eating for a few days altogether. It had been Noctis who had managed to get through to him, had reassured him that one time, had made certain that Ignis was functioning, if barely. Normally it was the other way around. His mother recovered, and Ignis spent a few minutes crying in Noctis’ arms in relief the next day, profusely and repeatedly thanking the prince that he was there. After that Ignis had reinstalled the boundary between them that he called decency, that a future king and a future advisor were not supposed to be like this.

That and the weight of the crown looming over his head had nearly driven them apart a few years later, but they managed to work it out. There was nothing that could come between them, as long as they left enough room for just enough decency that Ignis was comfortable.

But this right now was a positive wedge between them, heavy and disturbing in a way.

And it were these scars that Noctis had not managed to heal. Not the physical ones.

The mental ones.

Ignis had spent ten years planning this perfectly happy ending where they took down the Accursed without the Chosen dying for it. But everything thereafter he had not once thought about, and the longer Noctis thought about it the more horrified he became of what it implied. If it had all gone the way the gods wanted it to, there was no way in hell that Ignis would have been able to live with himself. And Noctis now knew that some extremes were not too extreme for Ignis.

But perhaps leaving immediately after making certain that Ignis would not die was the wrong course of action. Sometimes he still dreamt about that, dreamt that he was too late and there was nothing left to save. Within reflection, he had had to deal with what Ravus had so bluntly delivered when they pressed him about why he was helping them in the first place. The High Commander had cracked under the grief for his sister and said that perhaps Ignis had seen things that he was not supposed to courtesy of Ardyn or another entity that might or might not have been Luna or Pryna. That was when Noctis first heard that he was supposed to die for the greater good, but Bahamut reinforced that. And Noctis had submitted to it, had accepted it. Ignis breaking the news that he was going to live sounded like the strangest fever dream he had ever had.

But he had.

And now he had had the time to think about the fact that all people involved had been traumatised by the actions that led to this path. Ravus had all but demanded the time to grieve and closed himself off to other people, and opened up when the time was right. Prompto and Gladio both dealt with it in their own way, with other people. But Ignis had not dealt with it. Had not dealt with the physical scars and started wearing them with pride after dealing with them once the sun rose. But the mental ones… Ignis had not opened up to anyone at any time. He had focused on the task on hand, and then immediately thrown himself into working on rebuilding once the confusion that he had succeeded had passed.

“Can you… close your eyes for me, real quick? And keep them closed until I tell you to look?”

Truth be told, he was surprised that Ignis had tolerated him holding his scarred hand for that long. Noctis kept staring at it because it reminded him of the fact that Ignis had lived through something that by any means he should not have, and it made Noctis feel guilty. Extremely guilty. He was even more surprised that Ignis actually closed his eyes without asking why.

Noctis took a deep breath and quickly let go of Ignis’ hand.

He removed the Ring of the Lucii and looked at it for a split second. Maybe this was idiotic.

The ring was lifeless nowadays. Dormant. Just as the Crystal was.

Still, he quickly slipped it onto Ignis’ hand. He saw how every muscle on Ignis’ arm tensed up, heard the sharp intake of breath. But still his advisor, his childhood friend, did not open his eyes.

Dormant.

For a split moment Noctis felt that spark just in the same moment that Ignis tensed further, and now his eyes snapped open. Ignis was not a person to act suddenly, but he moved light lightning in that moment. He tried to remove it, but Noctis put his hands on the one that now bore the sigil of his bloodline. By the gods, that sheer horror in Ignis’ eyes was almost overwhelming, and Noctis took in a shuddering breath.

“Is that the reason you’ve not been sleeping well lately? Memories of… this thing?”

They all had their skeletons in their closets. Prompto’s turned out to be the fact that he was a clone of Verstael Besithia of Niflheim, creator of the MTs; something that Prompto had supposed to have been as well. Gladio’s were his feelings of being too weak, something that he addressed by challenging Gilgamesh and then once again challenged during the eternal night; on his own, together with the people he trusted most in his life. Noctis’ was the fact he still felt like he could never fill the shoes that his father left behind, that all his friends had made their sacrifices for nothing.

Ignis remained a mystery. He was the literal picture-perfect advisor, friendly and polite, intelligent and surprisingly funny once they looked past the stoic facade.

But Ignis shook his head. His breath was uneven. “No… no, it’s not the ring.”

“What then? What is it that haunts you so bad that you’re… Ignis, you’re crying.”

Gods, he hadn’t meant to make him _cry._ Noctis bit his lip and slowly removed the Ring of the Lucii from Ignis’ scarred hand. He saw the tremble that went through his advisor when the thing was finally gone, and all Noctis saw in that moment was that ashen hand that felt like it was about to crack open and into flame. He could taste the ash in the air, could hear that broken voice whispering his name all over again. Maybe Ignis saw the same scene endlessly repeated in front of his every dreaming moment when his mind was allowed to wander. For a moment he felt like they were twenty and twenty-two again and Altissia was not about to ruin their lives as much as it changed them for the better. Like there wasn’t a barrier that Ignis had managed to build up over the last ten years that they spent apart.

And then Noctis crashed into that barrier head first when Ignis withdrew his hand and shook his head furiously.

“It’s not the ring,” he repeated and avoided looking at Noctis altogether. “It’s not the endless dark either. Or the fact the sun rises. I’m not post-darkness depressed.”

It was a serious medical condition that they had to tackle along with rebuilding. Children born in the dark were scared of the light. Some people had found their happiness in the dark, or had lost so much that the darkness had become comforting. Those people couldn’t deal with the sun rising.

“Ignis, please, just… you did all of that for me. Let me do something for you in return. You need someone to listen to you – let me be that person.”

“You can’t.”

“I can try!”

“Noct, you really can’t--”

“I don’t care!”

He sounded like a child again, suggesting they sneak out together. Ignis always objected, but then always complied. He also always took the blame, though one look at his father usually told him that the man knew who was to blame for the latest escape adventure. He must have worn a similar expression to a pouting child right there, because Ignis’ silent crying stopped.

“Let me back _in_ , Ignis. This is supposed to be a two-way street, not you nearly killing yourself for my sake and then not telling me what I can do to help y--”

There were many things that Ignis could have done. Could have slapped him, could have started screaming, could have just gotten up and left. Perhaps the screaming one would have been out of character, but even the most patient man in the world snapped sometimes.

What Noctis did not expect was Ignis shutting him up by grabbing his face and kissing him with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to the wreckage of the boat he had been on just moments before.

Propriety was what Ignis always insisted upon. That was the barrier that he and Noctis agreed on, because there was barely anything between them to begin with. Meaner voices in the Citadel claimed that the youngest Scientia was trying to get more power than was rightfully his, that this exceedingly clever young man was manipulating the future king of Lucis for his own personal gain. Ignis set the boundary, claimed it was for propriety. And Noctis understood. He finally understood what he had meant with that.

It wasn’t about the fact that they were close enough to be mistaken for siblings.

Ignis had been terrified of something else altogether.

Noctis knew that now Ignis’ flight reflex would kick in. The man was always bad at dealing with his own feelings, and surely enough, Noctis caught his hands as the advisor all but jumped to his feet. He also stood up, and they stared at each other for a moment. The Ring of the Lucii lay on the piece of rubble they had been sitting on but a moment ago, forgotten. All Noctis did was pull on Ignis’ arms to force him to take a step forwards again. He avoided looking at the king, and Noctis cracked a small smile.

“Ignis, look at me.”

That was why he had done all of these extreme things just to get to a point where the Chosen did not have to die for the prophecy. That was why whichever entity had shown him what would happen had chosen that exact moment to show him. It wasn’t because Ignis was the strongest or the smartest of the group. He just had the most chaotic energy when it came to impulsive and extremely stupid actions as long as Noctis’ well-being was concerned. Not because they had been raised together. Those visions that told him what would happen had been given to him because Ignis loved Noctis.

Ignis threw a careful glance at him. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have… you’re the king.”

“And?”

“… I shouldn’t act out of line like that--”

“Just because people address me as Majesty and you as Lord Scientia nowadays doesn’t mean we’re not Noct and Iggy any longer. And you know what? Both His Majesty Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV and Noct feel the same. And they both have the same kinds of recurring nightmares.”

Before Ignis could say anything else, Noctis pulled him down and kissed him again. Gentler this time, without that desperate energy emanating from Ignis.

The stars above, and the rubble around them. Insomnia was far from rebuilt, and the world far from recovered. Noctis had his nightmares, would continue having them. Ignis would, too.

* * *

Gladio nearly ripped their heads off when they returned and went on a rant about how they were reviving bad habits and that the city wasn’t _safe_ for the king and a council member to walk around in at night with no supervision. He had a point, they both admitted, but he sounded quite a lot like Clarus right now. It only made them grin at one another sheepishly, because hearing Gladio talk like Clarus was… extremely strange, but also strangely fitting.

They saw the way Cor raised his eyebrows somewhere in the back, and they felt like a bunch of children caught while trying to sneak out all over again. Noctis had to admit he _liked_ that feeling. They’d all waited so long for a shred of normalcy, and finally it paid off. Even if that normalcy was the king and his advisor sneaking out unsupervised for a more or less dangerous venture into a wasteland.

Noctis slept well that night, for the first time since the sun rose. Even if he slept way too little in the end and was asked if he regretted his choices in the morning.

Seeing Ignis stand in that kitchen that morning with bloodshot eyes but also with a soft smile on his face was worth it, though.

* * *

He’d considered it some sort of childhood infatuation. Childish fancy that would pass once he realised his duty as future King of Lucis. It wasn’t until now that he thought about it in detail and started to realise that his father had also married his childhood friend. By some stroke of luck it had also been a political masterstroke for King Regis to marry Lady Aulea, therefore silencing some of the more displeased voices of the council. But back then royalty had mattered.

Noctis realised dully that if it hadn’t been for everyone’s efforts, the bloodline would have ended right there. He was an only child, his father was dead, and Ardyn was the relative they had no idea existed but who had to die. With him dead on the throne it would have been the end of the Lucis Caelum dynasty just as Ravus’ death would have been the end of the Fleuret family.

But either way, Noctis had spent the last few weeks thinking about how long he’d actually loved Ignis. There was no proper point in time that he figured out. It was seamless, he realised once while lying on the couch in his room with his head in Ignis’ lap and that report he was supposed to discuss tomorrow on his chest. There was no proper point where he went from considering Ignis his best friend to someone he loved.

In fact, barely anything changed between them. It was rather clear that they were both sleeping better now – the nightmares didn’t stop, but they were not as frequent now. They were still King Noctis and Lord Ignis, the fact that sometimes I seemed like they did not respect each other’s personal space notwithstanding. No one knew. Not that they cared. It wasn’t like they needed an intense change anyway. The one thing they needed was help with their sleep occasionally, but just as they had done back when they were children, Noctis had gone back to slinking into Ignis’ room in the dead of night whenever a nightmare woke him. And Ignis always reacted the same as he had when they were children.

Normalcy.

That was what this was, Noctis realised in this very moment, just as he realised that there was no precise point in time where he realised he was in love with Ignis. It was familiar and comfortable, no matter what had happened. After Insomnia fell, he had not once believed that there would ever be routine in his life again, that something or someone could feel like home again. But here they were, almost not a care in the world. Whatever was going through Ignis’ head, Noctis had no idea. He didn’t really _have_ to know either. He was content the way it was.

There was only one thing that bothered him now, and after a few minutes, Ignis put a hand on Noctis’ forehead with a gentle hum.

“Something on your mind, Noct?”

“Luna.”

For the slightest of moments, Ignis tensed.

Tomorrow’s meeting would include the dignitaries from Niflheim, Accordo, and Tenebrae. Or rather, a representative from the temporary government of what remained of the former Empire of Niflheim, the almost illegally mighty Accordo, and the small Kingdom of Tenebrae that had been forgotten somewhere between all the happiness and tragedy that came with the first light of dawn.

One of these tragedies was what befell Tenebrae before and during the dark, and the country remained the least comprehensively rebuilt place on Eos. It was as if the survivors were still grieving for what was lost before and during the endless night – they were grieving for the Oracle.

The Oracle who was supposed to have been here as far as Noctis was concerned. That was the one thing other than the nightmares that weighed heavily on his mind, and sometimes those two things bled together. He didn’t like those times at all.

But he also knew that there was no resurrecting the dead. She had died, and everyone had instead focused their energies on making certain that he could live, that her sacrifice would not be for nothing. Ignis drew a hand through Noctis’ hair.

“There are quite a lot of people who should be here with us, all above else her. But the only thing we can do now is ensuring that the world they wanted to see comes to life, don’t you think, Noct?”

“You’re right. It’s still unfair though.”

“Very much so,” Ignis whispered and closed his eyes, “and sometimes I wish Ravus and I had been faster.”

If there was one thing that Ignis never spoke about, then it was Altissia. Whatever had gone through his head, what exactly happened, how he had wound up in Gralea of all places alone with Ardyn. Noctis had tried to pry information out of Ravus back then, and back when the sun had risen before he went back to Tenebrae. But much like Ignis, the man’s lips were strangely sealed about anything that happened in that city.

Everyone had skeletons in their closets, carried weights around that they deemed too unimportant to share. That was fine.

They remained quiet for a while, Noctis’ thoughts running laps around themselves. But rather than talking about what was on his mind, he decided to enjoy this evening for what it was worth. He could always worry tomorrow.

Noctis still huffed a little as Ignis messed with his hair some more and commented on the occasional grey hair.

“Isn’t that against the law?”

“Ah? Is it now?”

“I can make being rude to me illegal, and then you’ll be going to jail, Lord Scientia.”

* * *

Most people called him the King of Dawn these days. Noctis did not mind that the slightest, though he did wonder how he would go down in the pages of history. Most weapons were afforded titles given to the rulers during their lifetime – Mystic, Rogue, Fierce, Wanderer, Warrior. The only title that really did not sit well with him was the name they had given his father’s sword. He was more than just the father of the Chosen. A man who had walked into a trap fully knowing about it and intending to not let them get him. Had it not been for the Glaive turning against him he would have succeeded, some strategists, including Ignis, said. Noctis had barely listened to that because it only evoked the very vivid image of his father smiling as he told him to walk tall.

But he had been more than his father. A man who Noctis was starting to learn more and more about now that he was no longer scared of not even remotely being able to fill his shoes. Now that the sun was back in the world, Noctis learned that his father had not left shoes to be filled. There were no expectations to be had of a royal born to die.

Surprisingly enough, Ravus shared that sentiment. The Fleuret bloodline had been expected to end together with the Lucis Caelum bloodline. Oracles died for kings, and the non-Oracle relatives usually did not live much longer or died long before the short-lived Oracles. Ignis even went as far as whispering “I do not doubt for a second that Ravus would have destroyed himself had we not intervened when we did,” and Noctis believed it.

In the end, his father’s weapon would forever be known as the Sword of the Father. That was the title that he would be known for in the pages of history, no matter how much Noctis wished that people had picked something else from his father’s remarkable life.

“’The Blade of the Lightbringer’ does have a nice ring to it, however,” Ignis muttered from his position.

Said position was upside down on his couch in his apartment. He had refused the apartment at first, had even given it to people free of charge while the city was being rebuilt for the longest time, but for the time being everyone had accommodations. Which meant that Noctis insisted on coming with him. The city was safe, he argued, and poked Gladio in the chest with a finger to remind him that his fiancé needed him more than the King of Dawn needed protection in a city full of people who supported most of his decisions without too many second guesses.

How exactly Ignis had wound up upside down on the couch, Noctis didn’t remember. He didn’t remember how he wound up lying on his stomach on the ground either, but the two of them were definitely not sober. Not drunk enough to say stupid things, but enough to do things like this. Ignis let out an amused giggle.

“Not that I wanna place it in a tomb quite yet. Like you better alive.”

Noctis snorted and watched as Ignis slid off the couch slowly. It wasn’t very often that they did these things – the king and his advisor were supposed to have a certain amount of dignity. Dignity they now lacked, and both broke into giggling when Ignis finally landed on the floor.

“I like being alive better than being dead too,” Noctis said after they were done with the giggling, and the advisor’s expression suddenly sobered up.

He sat up, brushed his hair out of his face and tried to readjust his glasses – but he wasn’t wearing them right now. Ignis wound up nearly poking himself in the eyes, but with such a dire expression that Noctis wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to cry. He instead sat up as well, crossed his legs and tilted his head a little.

“Everything okay, Iggy?”

“Not really.” He rubbed his temples. “Might be the alcohol amplifying it.”

“And what’s ‘it’?”

Back when they were children, they effectively told each other everything. Noctis would endlessly talk about his days, about what he learned, about what he thought of other people. His teachers. School in general. Ignis in turn would also talk about his studies, about how annoying the adults could be when they thought they were better than him just because he was a kid, barely a teenager. It was their way of venting, and they knew that the other would always listen. Why they had stopped as they grew older, Noctis never really understood. But it likely was the wall Ignis carefully constructed between them; that accursed propriety that Noctis and Ignis both loathed but that Ignis deemed absolutely necessary to keep his job and perhaps his sanity.

Ignis rubbed his temples and let out a soft groan. “If I had failed. Then that Blade of the Lightbringer would be propped up in a tomb all gloomy and cold. Everyone’d be hailing it like it wasn’t the blade you nearly got stuck in a door while trying to get info on where to get that thing Cid needed to make it stronger. Like you didn’t use it to pop open a can of the world’s most _disgusting_ tin food in existence.”

“Hey,” Noctis said softly as he scooted closer, “it’s not disgusting.”

“Noctis, if there was _one_ food that killed more people than Daemons, then it’s that absolutely revolting _grime_ they sell in cans that you slurp like it’s the elixir of life.” Ignis dropped his hand. “But if I’d failed. Then that’d be how it’d be.”

There was some unspoken tension between them as Noctis and Ignis sat a few centimetres apart, with Ignis even going as far as averting his gaze. Something heavy was on his mind, and he was ashamed of it. Ashamed enough that he couldn’t bear looking at Noctis.

“Iggy, look at me. You didn’t fail.”

“But if I had, heavens only know what would’ve happened,” he whispered, still looking away.

Most people would expect Ignis to be a centre figure in the rebuilding effort. What he had done was the initial planning, but everything thereafter they left to other people. They wanted this city to reflect that enough people survived the dark, but not enough to fill the old city that the war had destroyed. Of all train lines, the western line would lead into ruins for the longest time. And it was the train line they had used the most for their little escapes. Enough times to have some Glaives immediately check every station along that line whenever they went missing for more than two hours. Usually they were found that way, but it made the times when they were elsewhere rather hilarious in hindsight.

But the royal advisor was not as necessary in the rebuilding effort as most people believed. And that seemed to gnaw on Ignis’ nerves right now.

“Well, you’d be rebuilding the city, I suppose,” Noctis said with a shrug. He didn’t like thinking about times where he was dead and had left everyone to a world in ruins but bathed in sunlight.

“I wouldn’t be,” whispered Ignis, and a single tear rolled down his face. He _still_ wasn’t looking at Noctis, and Noctis reached forwards to grab his face and force him to look at his liege. “I wouldn’t be, Noct. I’d probably be vegetating away somewhere.”

This was a heavy topic, and one that Noctis had thought about the other day. Still, Ignis was sniffling and opening up about this, and all Noctis did was wipe that tear away and shrug again.

“Not classy. I always took you more for a poison kinda dude.”

“Poisoning yourself is hardly the way to go. Too much agony involved.”

“Well, what would you be doing then? Suicide letter, jump off the lighthouse in Caem?”

A shudder went through Ignis, and it might have been a cross between a laugh and a sob that escaped his throat.

“Go where we buried you. Because we wouldn’t actually lay you to rest in that tomb we’d have build for the public. Cry a shitload. Blow my brains out. End of story. Hope I’m rotted away by the time they realise I’m missing and put one and one together and come looking at your grave.”

Somehow, both of them only laughed. Noctis put his forehead against Ignis’. “There’s no need for that, ever, Specs. I’m here, all thanks to you.”

There was a long moment where neither of them said anything. They were both thinking the same thing, Noctis figured – that in their nightmares the other wasn’t there. And sometimes these damned nightmares were so realistic that they both woke up crying, screaming, thrashing and confused for a long moment until they remembered where they were, _when_ they were. Hells, even Prompto and Gladio suffered from something similar, if Prompto’s general paleness lately and the fact that Gladio and his fiancé had had an extraordinarily huge fight over something the other day were to be believed.

“No. I couldn’t have done that on my own. Doing it on my own, _again,_ would have killed me for real this time.”

Gralea would haunt them for a while yet. The thin web of faded scars underneath the ones Ignis gained during the ten years of darkness, the scars Noctis hadn’t been able to purge entirely with the Crystal because of the shock he had been in seeing Ignis like that, was a reminder to the both of them. And even if he had managed to get rid of nearly all of them, the one on his face and the one on his hand would have stayed. These burns that showed what Ignis had done and what he had been willing to sacrifice in that moment of desperation.

“But still. I’m here now, because you and the others organised and planned this daring finale to the story. And that means we all get to enjoy it.”

“Mhm.”

“Besides, now you get to enjoy me using my hallowed artefact or whatever they’ll call my sword once I’ve passed as can opener for as much as you like.”

That finally made Ignis snort. “Goodness. As long as you’re enjoying it, fine. But if you attempt to feed me that gruel, I might as well do what I would have done.”

They both started laughing as they sat there, forehead to forehead. Maybe this was a bit macabre, but it was a way to cope with this situation; it was a reminder that the other was there and not dead on a throne or dead in Gralea.

* * *

“So, how long’ve you been screwing your advisor?”

Noctis choked on his water. So did Gladio for that matter.

The nice thing about the peace was that he was able to do what his father had had to stop once he became king; dinners with his Shield. Seraphina might have been a huntress once, and she could still outrun half the Crownsguard and run laps around her fiancé, but she was surprisingly into cooking for someone who looked like she could easily break some bones and feel no regret about it. She was a lovely woman when she wasn’t using her blunt nature to sow chaos for her own amusement. Everyone called her and Gladio a perfect match, and after only a week of knowing her he had to agree that they were. This was the exact woman he always imagined would one day tame his best friend.

But this right now? Gladio was coughing profusely, and Noctis was aware that he was bright red.

“E-Excuse me?”

“C’mon, Your Majesty. Just ‘cuz Gladio’s got tomatoes on his eyes doesn’t mean I don’t notice. You look happier than you did before – and so does the chief.”

She had her nicknames for people. Somehow Ignis had earned the nickname chief – Noctis assumed that it was just a mispronounced ‘chef’ at first, but Seraphina quickly corrected him. Chief. Prompto was Blondie – Seraphina had been part of Aranea’s mercenary group, after all.

“That’s not… not gotta mean anything!”

All she did was shrug with a grin and smacked Gladio on the head. At least he stopped coughing after that.

“Sera, you sure you’re not seeing things,” he wheezed and his fiancé crossed her arms.

“Gladdy, I love you, but you’re about as observant as a rusty nail unless it comes to your duties as Shield. It’s _obvious._ Look at him! He’s practically beaming.”

Noctis messed with the silverware instead. She was right. Several people had noticed that both he and Ignis seemed to be happier, but somehow no one but Seraphina had put one and one together and figured this out.

“She’s right,” Noctis said as he put the fork back down, and Gladio only blinked. Seraphina at least looked satisfied.

“Good. I’m happy for you both. ‘S good to see that you’re both arriving in the new age you’ve all brought around.” She smacked her spoon against Gladio’s arm. “Stop gawking, man, he’s our king! Best behaviour, Gladdy!”

With that, Noctis and Gladio both only broke into loud laughter. This might have been a little awkward, but it was good to see that Gladio had nothing else to say about this. Noctis had already prepared several hundred speeches to his friends about this, but Seraphina’s forwardness had made this a lot easier. It could’ve been the world’s most awkward conversation between two people, but this? This was kind of fun actually. Especially because once the food was done and they were eating, Gladio echoed his fiancé’s sentiments.

“Yeah, y’know. I’m happy for you two, too. It’s about damn time one of you made a move after all that useless pining.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Just about half of what we already found was salvageable. The rest was mangled beyond recognition, or smashed to pieces and buried under the rubble.”

Ignis tapped his pen against the table in the meeting. It wasn’t even something necessarily dire this time around, and yet it somehow seemed to concern all of Lucis’ regional leaders. He’d seen that wreck for himself just the day before, apprehensively stepping into those halls that he and Noctis sneaked out of the Citadel for several times, usually when an interesting exhibition of some sort took place – and sometimes just to stand in front of the ancient star charts all over again.

Most of the Royal Museum had been lost to the night that Insomnia fell in, and then the ten years of darkness had spread its far share of decay as well. Quite a lot of history had been lost, physically at least. The data had miraculously survived until now, the servers untouched by half the roof coming down and crumbling further and further over the years. That room had been the main goal of that little expedition the day before, and Ignis would definitely remember how the entire party had started cheering when they found the servers still intact.

Too intact, in fact, but Ignis had not mentioned that. Countless other things had given way to decay and destruction, but somehow the data servers in the Royal Museum were untouched? That smelled of interference, and he had a fair idea who it had been. The way Noctis’ eyebrows creased when Ignis reported that, he likely had the same idea. Gladio, Seraphina and Prompto too, for that matter – and last but not least, had he heard that news, Ravus would have worn the same frown. There was only one person who had had access to these halls for nearly ten years.

They had the Accursed to thank for their precious data.

There were quite a few things that were simply baffling – as Ignis slowly started to realise, Ardyn had spent a good amount of time taking care of some things that he more or less deemed necessary. They’d found the entire royal archives shredded and torn, likely with gleeful amounts of vitriol and spite; but they had also found a not insignificant amount of other resources well-stocked, some even with complete inventory lists. Whatever Ardyn had been meaning to achieve with these things, they would never know – the man was dead, after all. He would not be telling them why he ripped the pages of every single copy of the Cosmogony out and scattered them across the floors of the Citadel, yet kept the paintings outside the throne room in pristine condition.

“Do we have the people to get all these things out of the museum?” Cleigne’s representative was a short and mean-looking woman with the softest voice imaginable.

Prompto stopped chewing on his pen and set it down. For a former civilian, he had gotten used to being important enough as the king’s personal Crownsguard elite to be allowed in these sessions that decided the future of Lucis. “We do. Quite a few civilians actually volunteered. But that’s what worries me – have we assessed damage to the _building_ yet? There’s been a bunch that collapsed lately. If the museum’s coming down while it’s full of civilians trying to get things out, they’ll take that as a bad omen.”

The entire round started mumbling; Prompto had a point. That was why they left the more desolate, more destroyed parts of the city as they were.

“We at least ought to get the servers out. After that we can assess structure damage and decide whether it’s worth it or not,” said Libertus, representative of Galahd. He nodded at Prompto, and the blonde slowly nodded back.

Ignis noticed that Noctis was tapping his foot against the floor lightly. Something was bothering the king, but he had no idea what it was. It continued for a while, a constant back and forth between the people present, with the king oddly silent and his advisor seemingly spaced out with a deep frown. In the end, everyone agreed that Prompto was right and that Libertus’ suggestion was the most sensible one; Ignis went ahead and volunteered to assess structure damage while the others got the servers out. Just a quick first glance before a more in-depth assessment.

Noctis remained seated and waited until everyone but Ignis had left the room. He was still tapping his foot against the floor, and by now messing with the Ring of the Lucii on his finger.

“Noct? Is everything alright?”

He nodded slowly before getting up and pacing back and forth a little.

“I mean, I guess.”

“What’s on your mind, then?”

He only hummed, turned around, and walked over to the window. Ignis slowly followed, stopping a bit behind Noctis. That way they truly looked like King Regis and his advisor had, and just the memory of that sent a strange dull heartache through him; he hadn’t really allowed himself to grieve for the sake of everyone else after Insomnia had fallen. But this scene right now was so familiar that it hurt.

Noctis, too, took a moment before he shook his head and gestured at the window.

“Are we… doing the right thing? We could be rebuilding more of the city instead.”

Ignis hummed. “Well, that much is true. But remember how we got to this point. First we rebuilt enough accommodations for everyone while also restoring basic transport to nearly its full former capacity. Electricity was out main concern, the trains next. Some streets are still inaccessible by vehicle, yes, but most of the city we can at least reach one way or another, without walking for ages. That alone took nearly two years. I’m not surprised that the people would volunteer to help retrieve things from the museum. No matter how many people we get to come back to Insomnia, no matter how much of Lestallum gets torn down as people move out – just people don’t make a city. It’s the things that they create that make up the character of it.”

Noctis shrugged, and Ignis put a hand on his shoulder.

“Think of it. Insomnia was a melting pot under your father, but also a city that needed the Wall for its peace. It was… artificial at best, as much as it hurts me to admit that. But right now, Insomnia is a blank slate. It’ll be what we make of it.”

“But what will we make of it?”

He laughed and closed his eyes. “I’d say as king your main concern is making certain that no one gets hurt in the process. Let the people decide what the city becomes – that is what you wanted when we were younger, after all.”

Noctis turned around, grabbed Ignis by the arms and pulled him in. For a moment they stood there, Noctis with his face buried in Ignis’ shirt and Ignis drawing his fingers through Noctis’ hair.

“Man, Specs, you always remember that kinda nonsense...”

“I would hardly call it ‘nonsense’,” Ignis said with a smile on his face. “It was your ideal. Back then, unobtainable – but now, you can. _We_ can.”

* * *

“How come you never got a silly nickname for me?”

“Beg pardon?”

Noctis squashed the pillow down for a moment and then turned to look at Ignis. This was Noctis’ old Citadel room, almost entirely untouched by the destruction for some reason or another. It just had been perfectly empty except for a handful books and discarded clothing when they first came across it after taking back the city and bringing back the light – now they had turned it into a sort of office where Noctis also conveniently had a bed in.

He leaned over the edge of the bed and tossed the pillow he was holding at Ignis’ back.

“I’ve been calling you silly nicknames all my life, but all you ever call me is Noct, Noctis. Formerly Highness, now Majesty. How come?”

It was interesting to watch Ignis tense up a little before breaking into soft laughter. “Really, Noct?”

“I’m serious!” He sat up and hugged another pillow to himself. There were more pressing matters he could be concerning himself with, but somehow this was what his mind got stuck on. Noctis felt kind of silly in that regard – he was king, yet here he was, thinking about nicknames. “You even let me call you Speccy for a while! Or all those other sometimes kinda mean things. You, Mr Prim and Proper, Mr Propriety! There’s gotta be a reason for that!”

Ignis turned around, still on that chair. He looked amused; the soft expression on his face didn’t help the slightest.

“Maybe I just never wanted to?”

“Come on now, we’re in the same age bracket! You’ve heard the things I called you, Gladio and Prompto. You’re not as joyless as some people paint you.”

“Perhaps that is true. But consider: I did not need silly nicknames when I could make you all groan with,” Ignis got up, pushed the chair aside and walked over only to lean in to Noctis, their noses almost touching, “my terrible puns.”

Oh, he had a point. Noctis squirmed a little but before he could pull away, Ignis had grabbed him by the shoulders.

“All joking aside, can’t you figure, Noct?”

Absolutely no royal retainer should be allowed to look this attractive with a smug little smile on their face. It was absolutely no secret that several people were into Ignis, but failed to see the way he and Noctis looked at each other – in fact, only a handful people seemed to have realised there was anything going on between them to begin with. Following Seraphina’s little blunt speech, Prompto had said that he was just trying to find the right moment to congratulate them on it. Iris only rolled her eyes at them a few days after that and then gave them a thumbs up. The only person to really say anything other than almost awkward congratulations was Cor – of all people, Cor. He’d only laughed when he found them standing way too close for comfort in a normally empty hallway of the Citadel, and said that King Regis at least would be happy to see the two of them that happy. Then gave some more tips on how to avoid getting caught by random people with the urge to wander, like the fabled Immortal Marshal of the Crownsguard.

He also added that perhaps they ought to tell people before they started using little nicknames like ‘love’ or, which was in the top ten weirdest things they ever heard Cor Leonis say with a straight face, ‘sweetie-baby, or something of the sort’.

“… Oh.”

“All ‘silly’ nicknames I would have given you would have been actual terms of endearment played off as a joke. I always assumed that would have been all I would get, other than the friendly closeness. So I decided that I could not take that, and instead used your actual name and title.”

Noctis wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him onto the bed. They both laughed for a moment before Ignis looked like he wanted to say something else. But before he could, Noctis put a hand on his mouth.

“No sad sappy nonsense, Specs. Call me whatever you want. Royal permission.”

Ignis took his hand off his face and planted a small kiss on Noctis’ knuckles. He didn’t say anything else.

* * *

Somehow, Ignis did not want to leave bed that morning. Noctis was already awake – which would have been baffling, but ever since the sun had risen again, there were quite a few things that changed. Noctis waking up and being on time for things being one of them, just as Ignis started to get used to the fact that he got sleepier. Once Noctis even joked that perhaps he was just getting old, or they had switched the sleepiness factor, as if that were a thing. But ever since that wedding three days ago, he’d been more tired than he liked admitting.

All Gladio joked was that getting hit with that bouquet gave him a concussion, since Seraphina’s throws were a force to be reckoned with.

Truth be told, he had no idea why he was that tired. Blearily he half-opened one eye and looked at Noctis, who immediately shot him one of these smiles that made the world light up even more than the light of sunrise falling in through the curtains.

“Morning, Specs,” Noctis said softly.

Ignis only squeezed his eye shut again, trying to ignore the strange feeling that something was _off_ this morning. Perhaps it was the fact that Noctis had not taken off the Ring of the Lucii. Then again, he had no reference point – Ignis never saw whether King Regis wore it to bed or not. But that ring glimmering in the morning sun on Noctis’ hand that was between them as if Noctis had slept on it… something about that made Ignis’ stomach churn.

It all felt too surreal to be real. Like it was a thing straight out of his dreams, and that the bubble would burst any moment and he’d find himself before the throne Noctis was pinned against, his father’s sword cleanly driven through his heart and the sun rising, the light falling in through the hole in the ceiling.

But he opened his eyes again, properly this time, and all he saw was Noctis still smiling at him; still as bright as the rising sun but also decidedly kind of tired still.

“Morning, Noct.”

Why exactly he felt like this morning was wrong, he had no idea. It wasn’t any different than any other morning – mornings he still considered a privilege, because he awoke next to Noctis. A breathing, living, _smiling_ Noctis, which was more than Ignis ever dared to hope for. Just him being alive would have been enough. But here they were. Together. The fact that said Noctis then bumped their heads together before sitting up with an almost childish giggle only made this whole situation better.

A day like any other.

There was something he wanted to bring up, but decided against eventually. Just having this morning was enough. More than he could have ever asked for.

He really, really, _really_ wished he had stayed in bed together with Noctis when the ceiling in the museum came down and the last thing he heard was the scream of one of the people he was with. Some sort of… was that his title?

By the gods, his entire body hurt. Everything was kind of blurry. Dusty, definitely dusty.

Ignis closed his eyes and all he could think about was how comfortable sleep sounded right now. But no. He couldn’t. Not like that.

* * *

Parts of the building were still crumbling.

Noctis had arrived to the street full of dust, to people shouting commands and trying to stabilise the parts of the building that were still in danger of coming down. It was only thanks to Gladio that he didn’t run into the building right away, with his Shield mumbling something about perhaps Ignis being outside rather than inside. But somehow he knew that this was not the case. Ignis never sat still, never watched things from the sidelines. As long as people did not stop him, he came along to everything. Would have come along to that horrible trip that ended with the Marilith attacking had it not been for his uncle insisting that Prince Noctis would be fine and that Ignis ought to stay with his parents for a night or two. Came along to every trip that wound up with him, Prompto, Gladio and Noctis bleeding and laughing, dashing head first into every battle after a quick look at the battlefield. More often than not Ignis was the one dragging one of them despite the fact he was also bleeding, despite the fact his bones were just as broken as theirs, despite the fact that he could barely stand.

This time Ignis wasn’t doing the dragging. Noctis all but stood there with his fingers digging into Gladio’s arm, still desperately scanning the crowd in hopes of catching a familiar face, a familiar pair of glasses in a face he had known since they were children.

Nothing.

Just like that day Noctis and Ignis got separated during one of their little excursions, Noctis was clinging to a member of the Crownsguard who found him and kept him from doing something stupid. He could almost hear the announcements from the nearby train stations, could almost see the crowds as he clung to that man’s sleeve and repeatedly, desperately, wanted Ignis to appear so they could take the train home and get the scolding of a lifetime.

But this time the Crownsguard was Gladio, this time there would be no Regis waiting for them with that intense worried frown, there would be no gentle reassurances that next time, oh yes next time they would manage getting where they wanted to go in the first place. Next time Ignis would make certain they would not get separated, and since the trains weren’t an issue any longer… next time.

Would there even _be_ a next time?

It was quite literally the worst thing he had ever had to think. After all this nonsense, after all the dread and fear and coming to terms with having to die only to have Ignis tell him that he was going to live and everyone making sure that it would happen, after all of the rebuilding and nightmares… did Ignis have to die that way? Crushed by a collapsing building after he barely managed to make it out of bed in the morning? It was… such an insignificant death for someone who had worked so tirelessly for the good of Lucis and Eos at large.

He waited, then started pacing, then started offering help to the people around him.

The Ring of the Lucii remained silent, and the magic barely sparked underneath his hands once someone recognised him as the king. But still Noctis tried to infuse all sorts of things with the power to _heal,_ the same power that had answered him all too readily when they had found Ignis barely clinging to life in front of the Crystal in Gralea. He only got more desperate when they started carrying out _corpses._ This couldn’t be it. This absolutely couldn’t be it, not after all those times they said that one day they hoped the nightmares would stop, that one day they’d gather everyone who had their hands in the happy ending together on the hill overlooking Insomnia to finally bid the war that destroyed their lives but gave them this opportunity to live a final farewell. Not after Noctis and Ignis both cried like idiots at Gladio’s wedding.

He turned around to look at his Shield, who was currently busy with some other people. Giving directions, like the Shield of the King was supposed to in situations like these, and suddenly Noctis felt rather insignificant despite that cursed artefact on his hand gleaming in the warm afternoon sun. They had survived the end of the world but it didn’t make them immortal. No amount of sacred heirlooms that now lacked power would ever change the fact that they remained people who would die. People broke rather easily, after all.

Another movement.

People were dragging someone out of these ruins, and Noctis heart completely stopped. He moved before he really registered what was going on, completely ignored Gladio yelling at him to not run towards that building, offered these people a helping hand.

Back in Gralea, there had been no blood. Just the distinct smell of burnt flesh, a raspy voice that sounded nothing like the person he had known all his life.

“Noct…?”

This time, now in Insomnia, there was a strange tinge to it that sounded decidedly… wet. Like he was about to start coughing blood. By the gods, there was so much _blood._ But still he helped putting Ignis on that stretcher to let these people carry him to an ambulance.

He hadn’t expected Ignis, who seemed to be falling unconscious again, to grab his hand with that much force. Noctis stumbled along, leaning in when Ignis’ lips moved.

“Specs. Oh gods, _Specs_.” Noctis choked back tears. Had he looked similar to that when his father had picked him up? So small and insignificant?

Was that what _Ignis_ had seen back when they had brought Noctis back to the Citadel after the Marilith incident?

Even after falling in front of the Crystal, Ignis had managed to at least look like someone who had had a mission and who was fine with dying now. But right now, he looked lost, without a purpose – like someone getting caught in an accident that they had no way of predicting. Noctis cursed the fact that he had agreed to let people survey this place after the first reports were carefully optimistic. He cursed the fact that he let Ignis go at all despite knowing that he would be going with everyone else to see what they could salvage, what else was in that building that they had overlooked.

“Noct… you know… you know what?” Ignis slowly forced a small smile onto his face. “A year ago… the western line. You put that… ring on me. You are aware that… most people propose that way, right…? Telling someone… to close their eyes. Putting a ring on them.”

Noctis blinked.

“… I’d have loved to.”

“Wh… what?”

“I’d have… loved to… marry you. Like Gladio and… Sera.” The smile died on Ignis’ face. “Now I won’t even… get to… live with you.”

It was agonising to watch how his eyes fell closed, how the people who had carried him sped up. He tried to follow them, his sight strangely getting blurry. “Iggy… Ignis, c’mon! Ignis!”

He stumbled and let those people carrying him continue. All he could do was stare, even when Gladio approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. Whatever Gladio said, Noctis had no idea – likely reassurances that Ignis would make it despite all that blood. But all Noctis heard over and over was Ignis’ choked up whisper of how he would have loved to marry him, and that he wouldn’t even get to just live with him now.

* * *

When he came to again, it was dark.

The room was cold and sterile – white. There were no lights on except for what he identified as medical equipment that might or might not have been in use. He had no way of telling.

Ignis moved slowly, realisation settling in all at once. He’d somehow, miraculously, survived getting crushed by debris. Just as Noctis had survived getting attacked by that Daemon all those years ago. His head throbbed with a dull ache, but otherwise he was feeling just fine – likely whatever cocktail they put in him dulling his senses to what should have been intense pain. For a terrifying moment he thought that this was going to be a perfect echo of Noctis’ accident all that time ago, but his legs moved. Very slightly, but they moved.

The next moment where his heart skipped a beat was the moment he realised that he could only open one eye.

“Mornin’. Back with us?”

He turned his head, almost desperately trying to open the second eye.

Prompto smiled at him, rather tired-looking, but relieved overall. It was hard to see in the dark and through only one eye, but Ignis was glad that it was this dark to begin with; light always hurt in the strangest ways after Gralea and ten years of darkness.

“I know it’d have been more romantic or whatever if you’d woken up to Noct sitting next to you and all that, but he kinda needs the sleep. And it was my shift.”

Ignis opened his mouth to reply, but all that left him was a hoarse croak that _vaguely_ sounded like what he intended to say. That he didn’t really care who was sitting by his side, and that he was in fact thrilled to see a familiar face rather than some anonymous nurse who would address him with his title rather than his name.

“Heh. You’re such a flatterer, Iggy. Well, glad to see you too, bud.” Prompto scratched his face. “Still, I gotta call a nurse. And Gladio. And the council. And Noct. Not necessarily in that order, but definitely the nurse first.”

“Wait,” he croaked as Prompto got up, “Prompto. Wait. My… my eye?”

He watched his friend kind of freeze up – and that told him everything he needed to know.

“I… see.”

“It was the only thing they couldn’t save,” Prompto whispered as he stood there with his back to Ignis. “But you’re alive.”

With that, he left to get the nurse that he said he had to get. Ignis was left in his bed, his world kind of turning. The eye that had quite literally burnt when he had put on the Ring of the Lucii, one part of the senses that he had promised the Kings of Yore in exchange for the power to subdue the Accursed. Perhaps this was their way of demanding their tribute long after Noctis undid the damage the ring had done along with the fight.

It was better this way, he figured. Only scars to show for the fact he had danced hand in hand with death had always struck him as strange, no matter how happy he was now that he was still alive. Now the eye that already looked like it should not function truly did not function any more.

* * *

In his dreams, the train derailed. The underground train station collapsed. Every time the Crystal awaited at the end of the tunnel, every time the same monotonous announcement that they were about to pull into the last station on the western line. Every time Noctis clung to him, every time the Lucii rose and the Ring of the Lucii made fire crackle on the train’s walls.

Every time Ardyn stood on the platform, watching as Ignis dragged Noctis out of the train as the ceiling started collapsing.

Every time he offered them a hand, only for the ceiling to come down and separate Ignis from Noctis.

But every time Ignis blinked his eye open in the hospital, the only thing reminding him that this was a dream the constant and way too fast beeping of that heart monitor.

* * *

There were more dignified things they could be doing as King of Lucis and Royal Advisor.

Sobbing side by side in a hospital room with one party being barely able to lift their arms and the other party nearly hyperventilating from relief was not one of these dignified things. But they didn’t really care.

It took Noctis a long time to finally calm down, and all Ignis could do was continuing to sniffle like he was about to break into tears all over again. He hadn’t really recovered from the dissonant nonsense that tormented him while he was unconscious, let alone the fact that he had been nearly crushed to death. But everyone had been nothing but relieved to see him alive; even if Noctis was the last one to arrive at his sickbed. Iris had given him news and statistics about the incident. All things considered, it could have been worse, she had whispered. Ten dead. Several dozen injured, Ignis included. Then she’d smiled at him and only said that spirits had been low for a day, but then the council and the people had joined together to make certain nothing else would happen. It created a conversation between everyone, and eventually they agreed that perhaps it was best to lose things from the past if that meant that the people living in the present would be okay.

Ignis felt rather out of loop, all things considered.

The nice thing about Noctis being here now however was the fact that having Noctis around was relaxing, and they didn’t even have to speak that much. Once they calmed down, Ignis just quietly enjoyed the fact that Noctis was alive and well.

For a few minutes, at least.

Then the atmosphere changed, and Ignis, tired as he was, noticed that Noctis started getting nervous. Perhaps there was some sort of meeting that he was shirking to be here with him?

“Noct,” he said quietly, “if you’ve got somewhere important to be, go.”

Noctis only blinked a few times, clearly startled out of his thoughts. Then Ignis watched as his face went from nervous confusion to the usual amusement.

“Ignis, you almost _died_ and here you are, telling me that there’s other places more important than by your side.” He let out a laugh. “You… you moron. I’d tell the council to fuck off if I had to.”

Apparently this was just about the only day that no one else was free to come with Noctis. Ignis already heard Gladio’s concerned and mildly angry scolding about the king going somewhere on his own without proper guards, but he also already saw Noctis dismissing that with a wave of his hand and a non-committal sort of grunt.

He laughed too – mostly because it was finally settling in. He had done it. He and everyone else had managed to save Noctis. He was alive and well, and Ignis had nearly died a death that history would have laughed at after all the trouble he went through. Not even the thrice-damned Accursed had managed to take down Ignis Scientia; but if he had stood even a few metres further back like he had been planning to, he would have been crushed to death.

“… Hey, Ignis?”

He looked at Noctis, and saw that the king was looking out of the window.

“I mean, okay, everyone else gave you that kind of speech before. So I’ll be skipping the scolding thing. But there’s… something else I wanna ask.” Noctis closed his eyes. “Do you remember anything between the building coming down and waking up here?”

“… I was… I was conscious?”

Noctis bit his lower lip. That definitely meant that Ignis had been conscious, and an uncertain amount of dread settled in his mind. If he was, and Noctis had been there… those were the perfect feeding grounds for more nightmares.

“Noct, I...”

“Be quiet for a moment, okay? It’s nothing bad. You don’t have to look like I’m about to order you executed for something. Just like, let me try saying this before I decide to just make a dumb joke.”

Noctis took a deep breath. All in all, he looked… flustered. Ignis was more confused than he had been when he first woke, more confused than he had been when he staggered to his feet in Gralea – he was trying to remember what he could have said. But his mind only drew blank cards that told him nothing, leaving him with that dread somewhere in the pit of his stomach as he watched how Noctis opened his eyes again.

“Like, there’s probably better ways to do this. Every sappy trope under the sun. Take you out for a nice dinner. Go on a vacation with you! Or the absolute _killer_ romance deal, we go stargazing. But like, I just… couldn’t get that out of my head. The way you nearly started _crying_ there thinking you were going to die, even if you can’t remember it now. Hell, I cried too once you were gone.”

For a startlingly long moment, Noctis sat there perfectly still. Then, he moved, and grabbed Ignis’ hand. The one that still bore the scars from the Ring of the Lucii.

“I considered getting a replica of that damned thing, actually. As a joke. Perhaps not as a joke, who knows! But nah. I just… couldn’t, y’know? Too many bad memories attached. And it’s kinda my bloodline’s priceless heirloom which I shouldn’t be replicating in any way, shape, or form.”

Noctis looked away, and Ignis only made a confused noise.

“… Gods help me, I came here all determined and certain I wouldn’t fucking blow this. Iggy. Count Ignis Scientia. The driving force behind me being alive enough to completely fuck this up.”

Ignis snorted, and Noctis let out an embarrassed laugh.

“Man, I really should have planned this better.” Noctis scratched the back of his head, then let go of Ignis’ hand to mess with his pockets. “Dammit, where’d it--”

“… Noct. Noct, it’s okay.” There was really only one thing this could be. At least Ignis hoped this was. “I do.”

“No! No, no, no, let me say that properly, I spent hours in front of the mirror before coming here only to forget it all, I barely slept, let me at least… dammit! Where! Is! It! It was there when I left the Citadel!”

All he could really do was laugh as Noctis continued messing with his pockets, desperate to retrieve whatever it was that he brought here. This whole scenario was so profoundly _Noctis_ that it completely wiped away the dread and uncertainty with just another desperate dive into his pockets.

“Ah-ha!” By the time Noctis found what he was looking for, Ignis had been reduced to almost childish giggling. It sounded like they were kids again, sneaking in and out of rooms they weren’t supposed to be in at all just to see how the night sky looked this particular night. “Gods, moment ruined. Either way. Count Ignis Scientia, the man who got into trouble for getting the Crown Prince in trouble, the man who single-handedly started undoing the threads of fate and then asked for help to finish rewriting history. The reason I’m alive. Will you marry me?”

Ignis wasn’t sure if he was laughing or sobbing. Whatever strangled sound escaped him, he almost wanted to apologise for it; but Noctis continued smiling that radiant smile that always seemed to light up the world around him. Perhaps this was not the most romantic thing in the world, but it was surprisingly not something that was really out of character for either of them. Especially the fact that Noctis had messed it up and turned it into a laughing matter. That was what Ignis loved the most. That this king, this saviour of the earth, was so… human. Not an ethereal creature completely out of reach, not a cold royal completely removed from his people. He was just a guy who messed up his proposal. A proposal he was making while the person he was proposing to was in hospital after nearly dying, no less.

“What a… stupid question,” Ignis hiccuped after a moment. “Yes, of course I will.”

* * *

Perhaps they would never finish rebuilding the city in their lifetime. If that were the case, then that would be it, they all joked. The world was recovering – but so were they. Broken minds, broken bodies, broken hearts; each and every single person had come out of the dark and into dawn damaged in some way or another.

Some more more scars than before. Some had learned about their past and what it implied. Some others again had had the weight of fallen countries on top of their shoulders alongside other weights. But they were healing now, some slower than others.

Ignis was certain that the nightmares would never fully leave, no matter what. Every so often he closed his eyes and saw what he had seen all those years ago in Altissia over and over again. Sometimes it were the visions that showed him the fate of the Chosen. Other times he found himself in the wastes of war side by side with Ravus Nox Fleuret, other times the same man was howling and trying to put an end to him. But every time he startled awake from these nightmares, he was not alone.

Just as Noctis wasn’t alone whenever he woke from reliving those ten years in the span of a few hours at best.

Insomnia was still rebuilding, and they were still recovering. That was a fact, something that wouldn’t just change over night. But they were fine with it. They had their friends, they had each other. And while people might still look at them funny because they were the king and the royal advisor, and something like this would have been considered a scandal in the past, the fact that this was also the world they were trying to rebuild remained.

It was incredibly irresponsible to sneak out like this, with disguises that barely qualified as such – there were quite a few one-eyed men in Insomnia, yes, but absolutely no disguise in the world would ever mask the King of Light again. But this time, they were certain they had nailed it. They really only wanted to see how the reconstruction effort went in that city, but sitting side by side on a train, with their fingers entwined and a satisfied expression on both their faces was relaxing; at least until the next station had a man enter their compartment with the world’s most dire and exasperated expression.

In the end, they wound up getting caught by Cor the Immortal – again. Just as they usually wound up caught back when they were children sneaking out because the prince wanted to.

Again on that train that led to the western end of the city, with the sun shining high above their heads.

And Ignis had to admit, his patience really had paid off. In the best way possible.


End file.
